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User blog:Psychomantis108/The Fall of the Aubeanic Reign (The unused chapters): Chapter VI - The Land of the Dead (Part 1)
Welp, time to begin book 2! This one is a little more tollerable to copy from, so I might be able to do more of these on a regular basis in the future. I guess we'll see, I promise nothing. :P I am afraid that these chapters are consiquently longer, so I might split them up into two or more parts, it can be quite tiring otherwise. ---- Cyrus' ragged boot took its first step over the Cyrodiil/Skyrim boarder. He looked, happily, from side to side as he wandered the pale pass, crossbow in his hands, relaxed and pointing down as he wandered along the dirt road. The Redguard walked with a slight bounce to his step, whistling a merry tune as if he was enjoying the bleak atmosphere and relished the deathly wind the deathly wind that reeked of decay and death. It would make any normal human's skin crawl but Cyrus had lived for so long, that he rarely reacted to discomfort or showed any signs of fear, when it came to danger as he had wished for death ever since he lost Chell. Nature was a cruel being and there was nothing that demonstrated this better than its sense of humor. He knew several people who would have done anything for immortality. They dedicated hours, wasting what life they had, reading and scrying, growing more and more obsessed, with each passing day, usually finding themselves dying anyway and yet here he was, forever young, outliving everyone he'd ever met. His father and hopefully that bastard, who took his only friend away from him are long gone, leaving him alone, with nothing to love or hate. He couldn't really imagine a fate worse... Cyrus continued to tread into the lands of the dead, enjoying the crinkling sound that the black grass made, under his boots. The vegetation had long since died, due to the blight, most plant life that had managed to avoid the blight, soon found itself dying, due to the lack of natural light, thanks to the tense flog that also inhabited the province. Cyrus didn't need much by way of food, he tried to eat every day but he knew that he could go the best part of a week without it. This made him a great escort for desert caravans. He once had a contest with one of the camels, to see which one could go the longest without water. Sadly, Cyrus won by default, due to the fact that the camel was killed, when the caravan was attacked. Cyrus hadn't noticed but there was something lay in the road, the Redguard simply sighed, he had hoped that he'd get at least an hour in to the province before he saw his first signs of its troubles. He couldn't see more than a foot or two ahead, due to the intensity of the fog. He could swear that he could hear some sort of creature on the horizon, the grotesque growls, snarls and barks, with no rhythm or follow able pattern. Cyrus simply shrugged it off, though it was obvious that it had unnerved him a little. It would help if he could tell what kind of animal it was, it was mostly sounded like a wolf or a dog but in a number of instances, it sounded like a bear. Maybe he'd be able to identify it based on the marks on the corpse's body. The Redguard gave a determined frown as he approached the corpse, seeing, almost immediately, that it belonged to a Nord. The Nord was pale, obviously, he lay with his eyes open, staring up at Cyrus with a seemingly terrified expression. His mouth hung open, like he wanted to say something but couldn't, due to his constraints of being dead. Cyrus knelt down, beside him, looking over the Nord's body. His simple, peasant’s clothing had been torn at some point or another, his shirt was but a tattered mess. His grey, swollen belly lay exposed, in the cold air and he had gone rigid from being dead for so long. Cyrus slowly slipped his hand inside the man's vest; he was being almost overly cautious, in case this corpse sprang back to life and took him by surprise. The Redguard's caution was proven to not be entirely unwarranted as the Nord's eyes had a whole other kind of life injected into them, going grey and slight glazed as they shot open and immediately fell on Cyrus, followed by a hiss of the Risen Nord, who still seemed quite attached to the possessions on his person. "God's blood!" Cyrus, cried out as the creature's bony fingers clamped around his large forearm, hoping to tear open the veins on Cyrus' wrist and 'recruit him.' "Get offa me!" The Risen's teeth continued to snap at his forearm, pulling it closer and closer to its repulsive black dentures.. Cyrus could feel the creatures warm and yet incredibly clammy breath beat against his arm as it snarled and hissed at the extremity, finally getting it between its jaws. Thinking quickly, Cyrus drew his hunting knife, a 15 inch blade, that could, on a good authority, skin a mammoth and drove it down, into the creature's forehead, penetrating its papier-mâché-like skull and through the quite literal grey matter it contained. The small spark inside the creature, that resembled life, went out and it gave a small, confused, gargle as its face returned to its original look of vacancy, like nothing had happened. Cyrus pried his arm out of its vile fingers, giving it a quick glance over and noticing the small, indentation on his arm, from where its claw-like fingernails had dug into his flesh. He winced and sighed, slowly pulling himself to his feet, whilst scratching his head, internally kicking himself for being so careless. His scuffle had obviously attracted a whole congregation of Risen, their growls and gurgles echoed, throughout the woods beyond the road. Cyrus quickly glanced from side to side, seeing if any of them were in the immediate vicinity. Thankfully, they weren't. Category:Blog posts Category:Stories